


This Ship is Ours to Wreck

by Fiercest



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Multiships, Peggy Carter Lives, Peggy becomes an amazon, bisexual!Diana, bisexual!Peggy, past Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-15 02:06:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiercest/pseuds/Fiercest
Summary: It's 1950 and Peggy Carter makes an emergency landing on Themyscira.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline for this stretches from 1950-present.

The last thing that Peggy thinks about before ejecting is that she should have apologized to her mother. She doesn’t call often enough. The war claimed her sons, but left her wayward daughter; the occasional heavily redacted update on her life isn’t too much to ask, is it? Mrs. Carter would say not.

Peggy’s seat rockets into the air and for a moment she feels the divine weightlessness before descent. She pulls her chute and only then does she spare a moment to absorb the majesty around her. Chrystal blue ocean, and a clear sky. Rocky outcroppings jut out of the water, like buttresses holding up the heavens, an island cliff side crowned with lush green.

A person, standing alone on a white, sandy beach.

Peggy squints into the distance and doubts herself. Is she dead? Imagining things? Was she more off-course than she thought? She should be surrounded by nothing but the cold Atlantic for miles.

Thank god for Howard. Adrenaline keeps her from feeling it, but she knows that her shoulders and chest will be badly bruised, not to mention the whiplash. Older ejection seat models would have broken her collarbones, maybe even her neck, with the force of her egress.

When she reaches the appropriate height she unbuckles herself from the seat and readies herself. She stands and holds the rigging of her parachute for balance. When she hits the water she hastily dives beneath the surface to avoid becoming tangled in the chute and drowning. She comes up for air and looks off into the direction where her plane crashed. It’s nothing but charred and disassembled bits floating in the Atlantic now.

Peggy swims towards shore.

By the time she arrives, she’s exhausted, the adrenaline has worn off. Every muscle in her body is screaming in agony at varying volumes. By the time she’s shallow enough for the water to reach her knees, she can’t stand and crawls the rest of the way. She drags herself up onto the beach, barely out of reach of the lapping waves. She wants to roll onto her back, the sand is scratchy on her cheek and some of it has gotten in her mouth, but she can’t muster the energy.

Something blots out the sun.

“Hello,” Peggy says pleasantly.

“Hello,” a husky voice replies, equally pleasant. “Are you hungry?” The sound of an apple or peach being bitten into.

“Everything tastes of the sea,” Peggy complains. She feels herself being rolled onto her back.

Above her stands a woman, possibly the most beautiful woman Peggy’s ever seen in real life. Her hair is tied up in an intricate braid and she’s wearing golden armour. At her lips is a purplish fruit that is unfamiliar. Peggy realises that the woman has rolled her over using her foot.

With a surge of energy, only to be found because of English politeness, Peggy raises up her hand and holds it out for a shake. “Peggy Carter, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

This seems to make the stunning stranger laugh. “The pleasure is all mine. I am Diana.”

Diana takes her hand and for a woeful moment, Peggy assumes that she’s going to pull her to her feet. This will inevitably end in embarrassment for all parties involved. Instead, Diana crouches beside her.

“Diana, if you don’t mind, where am I?”

“Themyscira.”

“I see.” Peggy, having attended Oxford, had, of course, studied classics. She’s lived a strange life and seen many things. She doesn’t doubt for a moment that a myth could be real. Confronted with the reality sitting by her side, offering snacks, Peggy can do nothing but shrug. Mentally. Alas, she lacks the capability and inclination at the moment.

“You are English?”

“I am.”

“Are you a spy?”

“What a strange question.”

“We have a track record of spies finding our isle.”

“I have a knack for finding trouble.”

“Do I seem like trouble to you?” Diana takes another bite and smiles as if that’s the greatest compliment one could give her.

“Well, this is an island with its own weather system, it’s not on any maps and is apparently a hub for spies. Will I find those spies’ head on stakes?”

“How barbaric. We do not need to warn our enemies in advance.”

“Somehow that is of little comfort.”

Another bite and a long companionable silence, wherein Peggy almost drifts into unconsciousness.

“Can you walk?” Diana finally asks.

“I’m quite comfortable here, don’t you worry.”

“The tide will be in soon.”

Peggy contemplates the singular comfort of drowning.

With no warning, she suddenly finds herself being swept off her feet. “Very dashing,” she commends her. Diana, it seems, is very strong. She can feel the rippling of her muscles under her knees and around her shoulders but sees no exertion in her face.

“So what is your story, Peggy Carter?”

“I’m a spy,” says Peggy with just enough cheek to leave Diana in doubt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy adjusts to Themyscira.

The city is beautiful and nestled high on the mountain face. Women from their early twenties to their sixties mill around them, going about their days. They’re dressed in luxurious silks and brocades that make Peggy positively green with envy. A squad of women march by wearing golden armour adorned with red capes.

“That’s my shade,” Peggy quips. 

She suddenly feels infantilized and embarrassed to be carried.

Diana brings her to a large throne room. Marble pillars hold up the ceiling. Beautiful story-scapes are carved into the walls. The floor is decorated with an intricate golden sunburst. Sitting on the throne is a fearsome blonde woman. When she rises and holds out her hand to Diana, her fur cloak parts to reveal bulging biceps.

Under the woman’s scrutinising gaze, Peggy cannot help but feel shamefully like a damsel.

“Mother,” greets Diana.

“Diana, another stray?”

_Oh my god, is that a joke?_

Diana gently sets her down so she may stand under her own power. Peggy’s legs feel like jelly, but to her relief, she does not collapse.

“This is my mother, Queen Hippolyta.”

Peggy, who always minds her manners, curtsies politely. Not so long ago, she stood before her own queen and had done the same.

_“Dame Margaret Carter sounds quite well, don’t you think?”_

She smiles at the memory. Someday maybe.

“Who are you and what brought you to our island?”

“My name is Margaret Carter, I was forced to make an emergency landing on your island.”

She startles herself. She hadn’t meant to answer. She looks down. A golden rope has been wrapped around her wrist. Is it just her or is it glowing?

“The lasso compels you to tell the truth,” Diana explains.

Peggy, of course, does not question this. Because of course, this magical, hidden island of women has a magic lasso of truth.

“Why were you flying in the first place?”

“Queen and country.” Diana bites back a smile and Hippolyta quirks an elegant brow.

“Where were you going?”

“I was returning home.”

Her mission is done, she is in no rush. No one is in danger of any information she has, but nonetheless, she tries to avoid straight answers. She is telling the truth, technically.

Hippolyta seems annoyed at this development. “Where are you flying back from?”

“Europe.”

“Specifically.”

“Germany.”

“Must you drag this out?” Diana asks.

“Yes.” The lasso compels the truth after all.

.  
.

Eventually, Hippolyta and Diana give up on the interrogation. They learn the answers to the important questions and are done with it.

Peggy means them no harm.

Her mission is over.

No one knows her location.

Peggy can’t help but feel as if the sole fact of her being a woman has shaped her reception. People don’t look at her oddly in the streets. Whispers do not follow her. She is allowed to move around as she pleases. She has been given a place to stay.

During breakfast on her third morning on Themyscira, she asks Diana about it.

“You are not the first woman to come to our island and find refuge,” she explains. “Sometimes we send them back to the world of men, often they stay.”

“So I can go, whenever I please?”

“Of course, you are not a prisoner. You mean us no harm,” as she speaks, Diana begins to clean up. Just like every morning, she’s headed to train. “Will you leave us soon?”

Peggy thinks for a moment. “Perhaps not yet.”

.  
.

This is utopia. This is paradise. This is the most comfortable that Peggy has ever felt.

She is surrounded by women. They all speak to each other and her with respect. They listen when others are speaking. It’s been a long time since she’s been in an environment like this. Not since school.

She feels respected and welcome, not like an outsider.

Peggy works with and for men all day every day. Intelligence work is a horribly exclusive club that she has clawed her way into. The place she occupies is hard won and it’s a battle that continues. Her existence as a woman is something she’s needed to justify at all times, every day.

Being here is like suddenly finding out that you’ve been carrying around a full pack of supplies, then finally putting it down and realising that the weight on your shoulders is actually 40 pounds lighter.

She’s tempted to stay forever.

.  
.

Of course, she begins training.

It is what Peggy does best.

She finds herself completely suited to their style.

Peggy fights with the ferocity and tenacity of a caged animal, the style and panache of a performer and ingenuity that allows her to make absolutely anything into a weapon.

She finds that her skill with a firearm extends to skill with a bow and arrow; once she builds up the strength to draw the bow.

Her favourite weapon is a dagger. She learns to stop a broadsword with the hilt of a knife. She learns to perform acrobatic feats, the likes of which she’s seen only Olympians perform. She learns collaborative battle strategies; she learns what it means to fight with a partner; something she hasn’t had in a long time.

The longer she spends on the island, the stronger she gets.

It must be something in the water.

.  
.

Peggy makes friends.

She’s never been what one might call outgoing, but she’s personable. She’s not prickly. The Amazons think she’s funny. They like her jokes, the ferocity hiding underneath thick English skin. They like her.

She’s closer to some than others but Diana is by far and away her best friend on the island.

They aren’t much alike.

Diana is a ray of sunshine. She’s silly and playful, sweet and kind. She is all sincerity and conviction.

Peggy is moody, pessimistic and sarcastic. These are all things she likes about herself. She is a born spy, sincerity is difficult for her. But conviction and kindness are things they share.

She likes Diana a lot and despite their differences, she feels a special kinship with her.

.  
.

Peggy keeps her photograph of Steve with her, always. She had it when her plane went down and keeps it with her now. It’s worn at the edges, but she doesn’t mind. It’s a well-loved photo, but she has others. As long as she can keep him with her, she’s happy.

On melancholy days, for despite living in paradise she still has them, she sits by herself on the beach, looks at it and thinks of him.

She misses him, same as she always has, but it’s all a little more bearable when she’s busy; when she has things to do. She misses him the way she misses home. It’s a phantom fever, a dull ache, a distant wish. It’s something she’s currently running from.

One evening, Diana sits beside her on the beach and gently pries the photograph from her tense fingers. She looks at the scrawny, squinting young man with a lion’s heart. She purses her lips and squeezes Peggy’s knee.

And she tells her about Steve Trevor.

.  
.

Themyscira is very progressive. Peggy, who is intimately familiar with many forms of discrimination, finds that women of all credos exist on the island. Women of all colours coexist here and there is no hierarchy of that nature.

There is a group of five sisters who live together, they’ve been here for a couple of centuries. They wear hijabs and pray five times a day. They live their lives the same as the rest of the Amazons, but they keep many links to where they came from.

The most recent arrivals (besides Peggy) are a group of Jewish women. They all have numbers on their arms and steel in their eyes. Their pride in what they are is stubborn and loud. Everyone on the island speaks hundreds of languages, but these women choose to speak Yiddish.

Where Peggy comes from, there was a sort of woman who was everywhere but had to hide. They had to develop codes, secret words, bases of trust. During wartime, one had to sacrifice a lot in order to be allowed to sacrifice for one’s country.

Here, there are only women. Here, it is not strange to have companionship and love. Here, there need never be secret codes or dangerous misunderstandings. Here, Peggy can comfortably be what she (and many others) were forced to suppress for so long.

.  
.

Peggy kisses Diana on a sunny afternoon after training.

She feels the burn of her cheeks under her hands and a swooping feeling in her chest like she’s falling. Diana’s right hand slides up into her hair and beckons her closer. Suddenly, the pounding of her heart is for a different reason than physical exertion.  
Peggy pulls away first and stares into her lovely brown eyes.

“So I’ve heard you have a pretty good track record with spies,” ugh. What a line to use. Diana will think she’s dreadfully cheesy.

But Diana laughs. “I have yet to meet one that I didn’t like.”


End file.
